As Scott was talking, I was already starting an instinctive retreat: I was walking fast towards the stairwell. But while one part of me was calmly working out how to exit the building – a building that was surely already on lockdown – I was emotionally reeling. Scott hadn’t betrayed me. Scott had ingratiated himself to the nationalists to extract information.
Scott continued:
‘They have a man in the Secret Service Command Centre under their thumb. I needed to get the device Lawrence Kelden created to hack into an air-gapped computer in order to contact him. I attempted to counter-blackmail him to get him to tip-off his own agents, but he refused: there would’ve been an investigation into where the information came from, he said, and he’d then be outed. But while he refused to outright derail the plot, he was scared enough of my threat to tell me what Yuelin was planning.
‘I then suggested I tip off the Field Office that the safe house had been compromised, then they could contact the Command Center – so the information would seem to come from an external source. But he reckoned Yuelin could have men at the Field Office who’d obstruct the tip; so, I decided to contact you with the information instead.’
Scott paused. He sounded like he had more to say, but was checking I was still there. I was now racing down the stairwell. I knew Yuelin could hear all of this, and that Scott would be aware of that, too. But since the vital information was already out of the bag, she was almost certainly just trying to glean as much as possible from our exchange.
‘Go on.’
‘Saul: I wanted to tell you what I was doing, but couldn’t. When I found out a Command Center guy was under the thumb, you were with Minxin, and I was worried that if I told you my plan, he’d cotton on, and tell Yuelin. I hoped I might be able to tell you once you exited the rendezvous. But I didn’t want to delay infiltrating them until you were done – you could’ve been any amount of time, and I’d no idea when they were planning their attack. In the end, I only just missed the chance to tell you. But then, once I met up with them, they had me under observation the whole time, so there was no hope of letting you know. And it was because of that intense observation that it took me so long to get hold of the device.’
I was now on the landing of the fifth, and I just wanted to reach through the walkie-talkie and kiss that bookish, nervous little man. He’d gone from traitor to angel. But in fact, he’d never changed, and I wanted to beg him for forgiveness for ever having doubted him.
Yet while a part of me was experiencing elation at Scott’s redemption, another was grappling with the enormity of the task ahead. I knew I couldn’t simply hand myself over to the police while announcing the safe house’s address to indicate it’d been compromised. If I tried, there was a good chance I’d simply wind up killed; after all, an unauthorized individual found inside was likely to be taken for the perpetrator. And my phony bomb vest was only going to encourage head-shots. What’s more, if I didn’t wind up killed, I’d be committing myself to life imprisonment. And given that Yuelin could have more plans in the pipeline, and still had her explosive technology, I had more than just selfish reasons to avoid this.
And even if I did hand myself in, there was also a chance the information wouldn’t be communicated fast enough – since Forsyth could be at the safe house within fifteen minutes.
So if I wasn’t going down that route, I needed to escape the building and get over to the safe house as fast as humanly possible.
But exiting the building wouldn’t be easy. All the entrances – including, surely, the one I’d entered by – would be heavily guarded. And even if I did manage to somehow charge through five men, it’d be like shooting fish in a barrel for the sharpshooters on the roof. So I’d need to improvise.
Scott continued:
‘And Saul, there’s another thing – I’m dying. Nothing that can be done: I’ve taken a bullet to the gut, and I’ve already lost too much blood. It happened when I was taking out the three men Yuelin had stationed with me, including her right-hand man – though he’s in fact only unconscious. I’m gonna put a bullet in my own head in a moment – no point letting it happen slow. But before I do, I’ll execute him, too. Sickens me to do it. But with so much at stake, it’s necessary.’
This hit me hard. My skin seemed to tighten, my heart felt punctured, and I had this overwhelming urge to scream. Scott Brendan was dying.
On one hand I felt dejected – like there was nothing left to fight for. On the other, I felt energized with anger, because I felt like I could do nothing worse than let him die in vain.
‘Scott, I know there’s so much that can’t be said, because of the circumstances. But listen. I’ll always love you like a brother. And I swear to God’ – I stopped a beat to compose myself – ‘you will not have given your life for nothing.’
Scott chuckled. ‘I should never have let myself get roped in from the guided tour. See you around, Saul. Good luck.’
I felt sick with grief. When I first met Scott, at FBI Headquarters, he’d asked me if I was there on business, and I glibly replied that I’d been roped in from the guided tour. And all of sudden, the words didn’t seem quite so funny. They were devastating.
I arrived on the first floor, put my talkie back in my pocket, and took a deep breath. I felt empty – completely goddamn empty.
But then, because I had to, I forced my brain to focus.
I needed some indication of the geography of the ground floor; some indication of where the entrances were.
I needed a fire-safety map.
I glanced around, quickly spotted one affixed to the wall.
The first floor was, loosely speaking, a large rectangle. The south side – the side I’d entered by – had two entrances; the east side, one; the north side, one; and the west side, two.
This information told me the spots I needed to avoid. And quickly I formulated a plan. I’d head to the north side of the building, shoot out one of the windows, and make a run for it.
I didn’t know yet where I would run to. But the tinted glass would mean I could see the lay of the land while remaining hidden. And when I did make a break for it, I was likely to catch the sniper’s off-guard as they’d be expecting me to use one of the entrances.
I put my eye to the glass of the stairwell door. The coast was clear. I slipped out of the door, and started moving rapidly north through the building.
Sixty seconds later I hit a large office space that looked out onto the road running along the north face of the building through oversized tinted windows. As I’d hoped, the sidewalk was empty. And even more encouraging was the fact that almost directly across the road was a service road that cut between two office blocks. And the service road ran at a sharp diagonal; so I wouldn’t need to get far into it to avoid the sharpshooters’ aim.
What’s more, the entrance on the north side of the building was a good fifty yards to my right, which gave me a decent head-start. And while I was near the more northern entrance on the west side, I knew I’d be out of their line of sight.
But though a lot looked in my favor, I still needed to cover thirty-five yards after smashing a window. And while my choice of exit would put the sharpshooters behind the pace, there was still a chance they’d correct their aim in time.
Then an idea flashed into my head.
I extracted the lighter I’d bought alongside the Dunhills, and set fire to a piece of office paper. Then I quickly removed the flame-shroud, the striker wheel, the flint, and the flint spring, and coiled the flint spring around the flint. Then,clasping the flint spring between thumb and forefinger, I held the flint over the fire.
After thirty seconds, I knew I’d have an improvised stun-grenade which I could throw a few seconds into my dash to create a flash that’d temporarily blind any sharpshooter looking on through optics.
I impatiently counted down the seconds.
When I hit twenty-two, I heard a large bang to the east, which triggered a fresh wave of adrenaline. I understood what it was.
A team of armed men had entered the building.
But this was a good thing. They were turning their attention inwards. Improved my chances of making a run for it…
Five, four, three, two, one.
I threw the paper aside, and unloaded two bullets into the glass which shattered into thousands of pieces. I jumped through the window, and starting bolting for the side street.
Then, four paces in, just about to throw down my flint – I heard a sound that chilled my blood.
The barking of attack dogs.
I glanced over my left-shoulder.
Two enormous Rottweilers were hurling towards me – they’d clearly been deployed by the team that’d been at the entrance just round the corner. And they were a terrifying sight.
They were two seven stone killing machines, traveling at least twice my pace. And they were far more formidable than almost any human adversary. Attack dogs will savage you without mercy; will happily rip out your throat as though it were a game.
It was perhaps the most lethal item in the Secret Service arsenal.
The flash seemed like the easiest way to deter them. But I couldn’t use it yet as they weren’t near enough. And that meant holding off deploying it for another second or so, and risking a sniper’s bullet.
I had little choice.
I kept on running, now staring at the dogs, and urging them to get to me faster. As I did so, an awful image flashed into my mind – of the sniper putting a bullet in my head, and the dogs savaging my dead body.
Another couple of seconds passed and I hit the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. The nearest of the two dogs was so close I could see the whites of its eyes.
Now.
Clenching my eyes shut, I chucked the flint into the path of the nearest dog with everything I had, and immediately there were pained whimpers. I opened my eyes to find myself ducking into the side passage, and moving out of any sharpshooter’s line of fire.
Although there was still so much to do, I felt a burst of relief. The dogs were dealt with. And while I’d no idea whether there had been no shot because of my flash, or solely because of my unexpected exit point, it really didn’t—
Something smashed into my back like a ton of bricks, and sent me tumbling to the ground. And even as I was falling, I knew it was one of the dogs. I reckoned the one that’d been tailing. I’d spooked it, but not enough.
As his claws dug agonizingly into the backs of my legs, I spun around, so I was face to face with the frenzied beast. There was bloodlust in his eyes, and the adrenaline thumped agonizingly through my neck. I lifted my left arm, so it was protecting my neck, and presented it to the dog.
I was using a sacrificial defense – something I’d been taught at the HRT. Once an attack dog’s on you, you’re gonna get bitten. So the important thing is to try and dictate what part of you is gonna bear the brunt. And the Rott took the bait, driving its teeth agonizingly into my flesh, and it was my turn to groan in pain.
But then I got unlucky, which happens all the goddamn time when dealing with animals. The son-of-a-bitch decided it was unhappy with the arm, so released it, and sunk into my shoulder.
The teeth cut through the soap and into my flesh. But I knew I’d dodged a bullet – the soap had saved me from a potentially lethal wound.
But now, since the dog had his teeth where he wanted them, he’d stopped scrabbling. As a result, I could finally take action, and drove my knee hard into its balls.
The effect was immediate: he rolled off and uttered a long, distressing howl. By the time he’d completed it, I’d sprinted a good eighty yards, and had emerged on the opposite side of the service road onto a street consisting of offices and the odd house.
Not a moment after I emerged, the sound of his second howl was drowned by an army of sirens starting up. But barely anyone had taken much of a look at me; so if I could get out of the vicinity fast, I reckoned I could ditch them before a pursuit got underway.
I looked around frantically. Nobody about. But then something caught my eye – a Suzuki motorcycle parked a little bit down the road.
A bike was exactly what I needed. I couldn’t travel to the safe-house via the most direct route – or even the second most direct route – because sharpshooters inevitably stationed along those routes would notice my presence. But a bike would let me navigate a less direct route faster.
I strode over, and instantly got to work on the wires by the starter, though it was tough going: my clammy fingers slipped over the wires. I had to keep calm to pull this off; but even as I thought this, I glanced nervously back at the side street.
I took a deep breath, and kept at it. Finally, I managed to find the right two wires, touched them together, and the bike came to life.
I got on, glanced around and, though I could hear the sirens as though they were inside my head, there was still no sight of law enforcement.
I moved off north away from the sirens.
Chapter 34
After briefly heading north, I then made a right and began pelting east, recklessly dodging cars, and eliciting angry honks.
I knew Los Altos was about six miles east of Palo Alto, and that if I kept clear of the most direct routes, I was likely to avoid the sharpshooters’ attention. That is, until I got near to the house, at which point, I’d have to depend on a combination of tactics and luck.
Again, I contemplated pulling over, and tipping off the Secret Service Field Office via payphone. But I knew a tip could easily be delayed by Yuelin’s men on the inside. And if I made the tip, and it failed – which I reckoned it would – then the time it would’ve taken for me to make the tip would undoubtedly ensure I’d be too late to intervene.
I made the decision: I was on my own.
But while the limousine had had a six minute head start, and was taking a more direct route, I knew I still had a fighting chance. Secret Service limos, in situations like these, will not usually head directly to the safe-house: they’ll take a few diversions to ensure they’re not being followed. And those diversions, which are impossible to second guess, could add anything up to ten minutes to the journey.
That that could make all the difference.
As I whizzed past Palo Alto Mitchell Park at least twenty mph over speed limit, hoping I wouldn’t catch the attention of any squad cars, my mind turned to Yuelin.
She knew I knew about the safe-house. But while it wasn’t impossible she’d try to intercept me, it seemed highly unlikely – not least because she’d be concerned that, if she made a scene near the safe-house, it’d compromise her deniability.
I reckoned she was watching the news, rooting for me to fail.
Yet though, thanks to Scott, I suddenly had a half chance to derail her plans, I was still awed by what she’d accomplished. What I’d seen at University Avenue had only been possible because she’d had the Deputy Secretary of State and a Command Center agent under her control. Liang would have let her know where Forsyth was planning to be weeks in advance; whereas the Command Center guy had surely facilitated the shooter’s entry into the skyscraper and the sniper rifle itself – and I was guessing he’d done so in a way that was impossible to trace back to him, and perhaps even appeared accidental.
I continued racing…
Nine miraculous minutes later, during which I somehow went entirely under the radar, I hit a point I knew was directly north of Los Altos, so took a right, and began racing south.
Three minutes later, I joined the thoroughfare that ran north to south through the center of Los Altos and slowed my speed as I scanned the street signs.
My whole body shook with stress.
Do it for Scott.
500 yards later, I spotted a sign that told me that Los Ninos Way – the road on which the safe house was located – was to my left, and running directly parallel to the road I was on. A moment later, I spotted a left turning, and knew it would take me to Los Ninos.
But I knew I couldn’t approach the safe-house via this turning. B
ecause – given that it was one of the most direct routes to Los Ninos, and thus one of the routes the limo was most likely to take – it was undoubtedly lined with snipers.
So I knew I would have to take the next left instead, which would mean overshooting the safe-house, and approaching it from the south.
Even as I hatched this plan, I knew there was a chance I’d already passed a sniper; but if I had, I simply had to hope he hadn’t noticed me among the flow of traffic, and alerted the others of a suspicious presence.
I continued onwards once again moving at full pelt. No more than a quarter-mile later, I spotted my turn coming up on the left…
But then, while still a good hundred yards shy of the turn, I saw it in my rear-mirror: the limo – turning down the road I’d declined to use. The panic rose in my chest – the same panic I’d felt minutes ago in Palo Alto, when I knew I wasn’t gonna stop the shooting.
I worked the accelerator, and took my turning five seconds later. Then, my hands shaking, I blitzed down the side-street. Fifteen seconds later, I turned left onto Los Ninos…
A quarter of a mile ahead, I saw the limo turn into the drive of one of the houses on my right-hand side – undoubtedly 563 Los Ninos Way, the safe-house.
Without hesitation, I started belting north up Los Ninos past the large, dull, non-descript houses crowding me on either side. And as I braced myself for the imminent explosion, I felt a terrible sense of vulnerability, because while there may not have been any snipers on this section of street, I knew that at any moment I’d be entering their range.
And yet even though I was painfully behind the pace, and about to face the horrors of the firing squad, still I clung to a manic, delirious hope I could make it. Still I kept going.
Next thing, I was 250 yards from the safe-house, still traveling well over forty mph. I withdrew my Walther, and leant back in my seat, keeping low so as to deprive the sharpshooters of the cranial shot I knew they’d be trying for; the sharpshooters who, though I couldn’t see them, inevitably now had me in their sights. A fraction of a second later, a bullet fizzed terrifyingly past the back of my bike – fired from my left-hand side. A fraction of a second after that, the safe house – 563 Los Ninos Way – appeared on my right-hand side. The limo. Agents. Secretary Forsyth with her distinctive bob of blonde hair.
Never Forget Page 24